


the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul

by Saxifactumterritum



Series: Moments universe [10]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Stargate, Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 20:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19857331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saxifactumterritum/pseuds/Saxifactumterritum
Summary: Told you there was a Lorne one, ha! well, he's in it anyway. It's kind a Jeannie one. Rodney is A Lot when he's anxious. John is generally a bit of a pain in the ass





	the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul

**Author's Note:**

> Rodney's very excellent butt makes an appearance. I feel like that needs to be noted. 
> 
> Christ, titles are hard. seriously, if anyone ever wants to just... title fic for me, like, that'd be great lol. I stole this one from Emily Dickinson

Jeannie Miller is coming to visit on the 5th of October, landing at 1.45pm. John has absolutely no doubt about the date or flight-time, because Rodney does  _ not shut up  _ about it in the preceding two  _ months _ . The week running up to her visit John tries to spend as much time at work as possible, going so far as to set up an old x-box linked to the TV Ellis has in the tiny waiting area. It’s not used much, Ellis always puts up a ‘broken’ sign so clients won’t put it on, because one too many tried to watch FOX TV on there. The upshot of it all is that Rodney is incredibly bad-tempered most of the time, because he wants John to clean the bathroom for the fifth time in a two-day period or something. 

“Rodney! The house is sparkling, it is tidy, I have made every bed we own, military fashion, everything is folded and presented nicely, I have lined it all up with the stupid ruler to gave me,” John stops to breathe, letting frustration roll off. Rodney looks miserable, but his mouth is tight with anger. 

John gets yelled at for a full fifteen minutes for not understanding the importance of not moving the mugs. There’s a good five minutes in there about the pattern Rodney’s created for optimum mug-presentation. John looks down at his cup of coffee, a bit bewildered. 

“Um, Rodney,” John says, interrupting the diatribe. Rodney’s face is going redder and redder. “Rodney! McKay!”

“...and we need- yes, what? What could possibly be more important than this?”

“Plenty of stuff,” John says. “I just wanted to know if you wanted coffee before you went to get her. I think I have my answer, so I’ll just… finish this and then put the mug back exactly where I t-” Rodney makes a high pitched sound of distress. “In fact, you know what? I’ll just give this to you to wash, and I’ll go out for my coffee. How’s that?”

Rodney takes the mug and washes it, dries it, and carefully arranges it back in the cupboard. John wonders if it’s safe to shower and get dressed, or if that will disorganized things. 

“I’ll just go out like this,” he decides. Rodney squawks. 

“You can’t meet my sister looking like a, a, a, dumpster diver!” Rodney yells, gripping John’s shoulders and shaking him. “Have you lost your marbles?”

John looks down at his old USAF sweat-pants and black tee. They’re quite clean, really. With a pair of flip-flops it all seems perfectly adequate for getting coffee. 

“I’ll shower and change?” he suggests. 

“Do not set foot in that bathroom while I’m gone,” Rodney says, narrowing his eyes. “I have set out what you are going to wear on the bed, you can change. Go to the gym to shower.”

John goes to get the pile of clothing Rodney’s left out and then, in his flip-flops and ‘dumpster diving’ outfit, he goes to Lorne’s. He moved here a few months ago, a sort of promotion, sort of a sideways step; a pay-rise, a slightly better position, and working with General O’Neil, one of the most decorated four-star generals and one of the USAFs golden boys. John’s met him once, because Ronon worked with Cam Mitchell who got John drunk in San Francisco once, and decided John was ‘good fun’. Cam’s now got him thoroughly drunk on several occasions. John still hasn’t worked out his angle, but there definitely is one. John leans in the corridor of Lorne’s ugly apartment block and knocks on the door, tapping the Imperial March out over and over until Lorne comes up the stairs behind him. 

“Hey Shep,” Lorne says, unfazed by John appearing on his doorstep. “You hungry?”

“Need a shower,” John says. “Not allowed to touch anything at home.”

He follows Lorne in like a stray, showers while Lorne gets started making cookies, then drinks coffee and checks that all the batches of cookies taste good. He complains about Rodney for a while, Lorne pretending to listen while he texts whoever it is he’s texting. Then John decides he wants to know who it is he’s texting and starts gently nudging the subject that way. Very subtly. 

“I’m not telling you who it is,” Lorne says, ten minutes later, tossing his phone down and going to get himself more coffee. “Are you here forever, now?”

“Good question,” John says. “I have no idea when Rodney wants me back. I’d ring and ask him, but he might yell.”

“I’m not telling you even if you make sad faces and pretend your relationship is on the rocks,” Lorne says. He brings a bunch of fruit with him when he comes back to the table, like he’s the bringer of harvests or something. John gets himself more cookies. 

“Would you tell me if I’m all, you know. Genuine about stuff,” John says, looking out of Lorne’s window, and this is why Lorne lives in such a crappy building - the views are breathtaking. Even on grey days like this, you can really just look right out across the city, a real kind of aerial view. “C’mon, Evan. Is it your girl?”

“I think the only other time you’ve called me ‘Evan’, unless you were trying to get something out of me, was the time you met my mothers and thought maybe they wouldn’t know who you meant if you called me ‘Lorne’.”

“It’s all three of you’s name!” John defends, turning away from the view. “It could’ve been confusing! Your mom’s a marine, she must get called Lorne too lots, and your other mom - well, I doubt you really get known by your last name when you’re an art therapist, but, she’s really nice. I like your moms. They make better cookies than you, the both of them.”

“Mom’s friends from the service mostly call her ‘Godiva’, far as I can tell, cus she once got caught half-way changed by an alarm, and just went to work anyway,” Lorne says. 

“Oh man, that’s awesome,” John says. “Think the worst I ever did was flying a Cobra barefoot.”

“I’ll invite you over next time they’re in town, Shep,” Lorne says. “They think you’re hilarious.”

Lorne starts boxing up his cookies, so John nabs a handful before they all go. He should probably put on the fancy clothes Rodney sent with him and head on home, but he’s kind of enjoying Lorne’s easy company after a week of Rodney in the foulest of moods. He pats himself down, then frowns, looking around. Lorne narrows his eyes. John bites his lip. 

“Shit. Lend me your phone, bud,” John says. 

“No.” 

“Come on, I’m not playing, I need to see what Rodney wants. I don’t want him actually mad at me,” John says. 

“No.”

“You can dial the number and call, I won’t even have a chance to look,” John says. Lorne sighs but dials and passes it over. John holds it between his ear and his shoulder and starts checking cupboards, looking for more snacks. 

“Stop. I’ll make you something, if you’re hungry, stop trying to eat me out of house and home,” Lorne says. 

“I only ate cookies!” John protests.

Lorne hip-checks him away from the chocolate stash. John manages to snag a kit-kat before he’s shoved away. Sweet. Lorne pulls out bread and cheese and tomatoes, and starts up the sandwich griller. 

“What?” Rodney finally answers, not sounding in any better of a mood. 

He is even less happy when John asks what the plan is, apparently he’s gone over this a few times. He goes over it again at top volume, yelling in John’s ear. John holds the phone away and gleans the pertinent information before hanging up. Lorne’s busy with the sandwiches, so John quickly pulls up the texts. 

“Ah-ha!  _ Caramel _ , oooh,” John says. “That is a name and a half. Or is it a pet-name? I’m betting pet-name. Hm, let’s see, is-”

John doesn’t get any further before he’s tackled. They hit the ground hard, John laughing as they fight for the phone. Lorne gets him pinned, but John gets his legs around Lorne’s neck and shoulder and flips him, getting his knees under him for some traction. They wrestle for a bit, falling easily into sparring, up on their feet. They go until John knocks his hip on the table and hisses, the muscles spasming in faint memory. Lorne tucks his phone away and they take sandwiches into the livingroom to flop on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. 

“Aside from… is it good? Are you good?” John asks. 

“Yes. Aside from you being an asshole, you mean? Yes, it’s fine,” Lorne says, glaring. “I’ll tell you about her if it ever gets to be something.”

“Fair enough,” John says, then grins. “I can hardly give a lecture on holding out.”

“I called him your ‘guy back home’, the other week when I was over,” Lorne says, voice going softer. “His face. John, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, kinda sucked,” John says, trying to keep it light. He had enough of that stuff when he was living it. “He liked it?”

“Yeah. I’m doing that again. Watching Rodney McKay’s face do  _ that  _ was an education,” Lorne says. “He really loves the hell out of you. I want that.”

“With-” 

“Don’t.”

“ _ Caramél, _ ” John drawls, dragging out the last syllable. Lorn hits him with a cushion. “I gotta go, I’m meant to be home soon. Thanks, buddy. It’s good having you in the city again, yeah?”

“Your ears really do go bright red when you’re embarrassed.”

“What?”

“Rodney was telling me about it once, he was so drunk. I notice it now. Bright red.”

John supposes it’s retribution for stealing the phone and takes it with as much dignity as he can, ignoring Lorne’s cackling laughter following him to the bathroom as he changes, cheeks (and, yes, ears) hot. John takes an extra minute to check his hair really won’t lie flat, afterall you never know; nearly forty years in the world might change its mind (it doesn’t). Then he heads out, borrowing a pair of slightly too small shoes from Lorne, who laughs even harder at him wearing suit pants and a crisp shirt and flip-flops. John leaves those and the rest of his stuff, and the box of cookies he wheedled out of Lorne, in the car when he pulls up on their forecourt, heading into the house with just himself. He hopes he looks presentable enough to ease some of Rodney’s anxiety. 

“Oh, you’re home,” Rodney says, appearing as soon as John walks in, sounding incredibly relieved. John’s tempted to check his watch to make a point that he’s turned up exactly when Rodney requested, but he tamps that down and instead gives Rodney’s shoulder a squeeze. “Jeannie’s out on the deck with Madison, I’m just making coffee. Come through and meet her. Please.”

“Yeah, cool,” John says, stroking Rodney’s slightly flushed cheek. “Did you sleep at all this week?”

“Why? Do I look tired?” Rodney asks, voice going even higher. 

“You look fine,” John says, a smile spreading over his face as he takes Rodney in. He runs his hands over Rodney’s shoulders. “You look great. Hell, your eyelashes are so god-damned amazing, look at you. Hi.”

“No no no,” Rodney hisses, pulling away. “You cannot kiss me, you cannot be lecherous. I have to make a good-”

“Hey, shh, come here. I’m not going to do anything to mess this up,” John says, dragging Rodney closer again and reeling him in, pulling his head against John’s shoulder, holding tight until he relaxes inch by inch. 

“I’m so tired.”

“Alright. So introduce me, finish making the coffee. I’ll play host for a bit and you can lie down,” John says. “I’m good with kids, I like ‘em.”

“You are ok with them, it’s weird,” Rodney says. “I can’t  _ nap _ . I have to… something.”

“All you have to do is get some sleep and let me take over,” John says. “Come on, introduce me.”

Rodney nods and they head on through. Jeannie’s blond and fizzy, hair and personality. She reminds him of Rodney but what really strikes him is the affection between the two, underneath the tension. Even in the five minutes Rodney’s there John catches on that beyond loving each other, they actually  _ like  _ each other. He kneels to play with Madison until Rodney’s ready to slip away, then he sits with Jeannie and they watch Madison, John answering any questions she has (which is a lot; she’s six, she has a billion and one questions). She brings them things, flowers and toys and then she comes over with a bug and it’s got horns and John’s throat closes up, sweat prickling against his forehead and wrists. It’s fine though, she shows them and then goes on her way. 

They’re fairly easy to host, John finds himself relaxing easily into Jeannie’s company and Madison is bright and fun to play with. He knows why Rodney’s being funny about this trip, but he doesn’t intend to follow Rodney’s lead. He thinks Jeannie will like it much better if she gets to see what her brother’s life is actually like. He thinks she’ll like Rodney much better, too. So he lets himself relax, makes them snacks, takes them for a wander around the neighbourhood, buys Madison ice cream. When they get back he leaves Jeannie and Madison in the livingroom for some quiet and goes up to the bedroom .

Rodney’s spread out on the bed, face down in the pillows, snoring, drooling, the whole bit. He’s stripped right down and his naked ass is as beautiful as his blue eyes. John laughs softly, closing the door, and goes to kiss the round of it, holding Rodney’s hip. He presses another kiss higher, then moves up Rodney’s side and back and shoulder and nuzzles into his neck, stretching out beside him. 

“Mm. Morning,” Rodney rumbles, smiling. 

“Yeah, hey,” John says, nudging Rodney onto his side so John can kiss him. 

“Oh,” Rodney breathes. He’s been so tense all week, it’s so  _ good  _ to have him pliant and happy in John’s arms. John feels his breath go embarrassingly shaky, so he presses closer, kissing Rodney’s jaw and hiding his face. “Oh?”

“I missed you,” John admits. 

“Oh no! Jeannie!” Rodney says, sitting bolt upright. 

“She’s fine,” John grouses, flopping onto his back. “She wanted some time with Madison, they read in the afternoons. Can you just, turn it down a notch?”

“No I can’t! You think this is fun for me?” Rodney says, getting annoyed. Again. 

“Just a notch. She’s here, she’s happy, she had a good afternoon. I promise I’ve taken excellent care of them. Trust me for two secs and breathe?”

“Yes, yes. Fine. I can do that,” Rodney says, lying back. “Fine. She’s happy?”

“Yes. We talked about you,” John says, smiling. “Good things. She told me about you making her school lunches and you used to put stickers on the sandwich wrappers, and write equations on little bits of card.”

“Oh. I did do that,” Rodney says. 

“I told her you used to write me endless screeds of math. You’re so damned weird, Rodney,” John says. 

“Yes, I know. You used to say that, years ago. Before anything. I always thought it sounded like you meant ‘I love you’.”

“As you wish,” John says, smiling wider. “I love that movie, can we watch it?”

“Huh? Oh, The Princess Bride, yes, fine. Are we making them dinner?”

“Mm. I brought cookies from Lorne, but Madison already had those weird fruity things you put in her cupboard of snacks that are more sugary than any unhealthy cookie, and ice cream, and those, what are they? Like, pink.”

“‘kay.”

“I usually mean I love you,” John says, rolling over, hand against Rodney’s side, pushing into another kiss. “Because I do.”

“I know,” Rodney says. 

“Also a good movie,” John says, getting up. “But I’m Han.”

Rodney rolls his eyes and tries to shove John down the stairs on their way to make dinner, because ‘not everything is a movie reference, you heathen’. Jeannie beams when Rodney’s still stilted and a bit odd, but much more relaxed. He even asks about Caleb, and remembers his name. John’s pretty sure it’s going to be a good trip; he soft way Jeannie looks at Rodney is a good sign, and the way Rodney relaxes enough to actually disagree with Jeannie is another one. They gang up on John when he laughs at them, which is another good sign. And John is just glad that he can be at home again, and that later, far far later, Madison long ago in bed and sleeping, Rodney reaches over entirely unselfconscious, to push John’s hair out of his face. 

“Go to bed, you’re about to fall asleep,” Rodney says, soft and fond. “I’ll be up in a bit, mm?”

“Okay,” John says, shaking himself a bit more awake and trying to extricate himself from the couch. “Oh. Um.”

Rodney laughs and gets up to help, hauling John out of the too-soft cushions, kissing his cheek and giving him a shove toward the door. John hears him telling Jeannie a story about a time John was away and he got the couch. It really is going to be okay, John thinks, crawling into bed. 


End file.
